


Visions of the Cursed

by mermansousuke



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Loki being a shit, Nightmares, Prophetic Dreams, Protective Siblings, Thor: Ragnarok, a lot of hurt :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermansousuke/pseuds/mermansousuke
Summary: The battle is won, but at what cost?Thor must face his own demons and doubts if he hopes to restore faith to his people. Of course, that's difficult to do with a missing eye that refuses to heal, nightmares that plague both his sleeping and waking moments, and not to mention a certain brother who seems to be actively avoiding him. Odin made it seem so easy.[Post Ragnarok. Pre - Infinity War]





	Visions of the Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So I've had this little thing sitting in my folder for MONTHS. Finally just got the DVD the other day and my spark for this story has returned. 
> 
> I wanted to delve into a little idea I had about Thor's "dreams". What if Thor has prophetic dreams? What would be the mechanics of it? And what if Hela left more than just a missing eye and a nasty scar? Honestly, it's just an excuse to make him suffer because I like my favorites to hurt, apparently.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated <3

There’s a feast held in honor of their fallen comrades and to commemorate their new king. These are two very different things to be holding a feast for in Thor’s opinion, but if his people will it, then it shall be.

Thor isn’t one to turn down a good feast, after all.

It’s nothing like the feasts they held in Asgard. There is no mead to pass around, the food is neither fresh nor particularly flavorful; yet, his people clamor and holler like it’s the feast of a bountiful harvest, like the water they are drinking  _ is  _ mead, and the bland rations they stuff down their gullets are the fresh fruits and hearty meats of their land.

His people are a strong people.

“Hey, Your Majesty.” A hand slams down beside Thor, and he startles. He’d not seen her approach.

“Ah, hello,” Thor greets the Valkyrie amiably. He scoots over and pats the seat next to him. When she takes a seat, Thor smiles. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you coming. Are you enjoying the feast?”

Even with one eye gone, he doesn’t miss the way her dark brown eyes flicker to his missing one, expression contrite. The look is gone less than a moment later, hidden beneath a reprimanding scowl so alike Loki it makes something in Thor’s heart twist painfully.

“Did you go to the healer’s to get that looked at?” She demands, twisting his head to take a look at the bandages he used to wrap around his eye like a makeshift eye patch.

“Aye,” Thor says, allowing her to manhandle his head this way and that. “I stopped in briefly. They were very busy.”

Her eyes narrow. “So did you actually have a healer treat this? Or were they too busy to care for their new king?”

“Why, I never knew you cared,” Thor says cheekily. He laughs when she pushes his head away in disgust. “I was taught some rudimentary healing when I was young,” Thor explains. ”Loki was much better at it than I, but I know enough to get by.”

“It’s bleeding through the bandage,” she says impassively, arms crossed.

“As I said, Loki was much better at the healing arts than I.”

When he throws another cheeky grin her way, she lets out an exasperated sigh, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Thor knows he’s won when she pushes a tankard his way.

“Drink up, Your Majesty,” she says as she takes a swig from her own.

Thor accepts the tankard with good grace. “Thank you. Nothing like water to really liven up the party.” Her only answer is a knowing smile, then laughing outright when he nearly chokes after the first sip. The burn of alcohol is still sharp in his nose when he wheezes, “This is not water.“

“A very observant king,” she notes, watching as Thor takes another, longer draw from his tankard. Now that he’s expecting it, he savors the strong taste; the liquid is clear, like water, but tastes very similar to the ale they have in Midgar.

“So, Valkryie,” Thor says, setting his mug down in favor of giving the warrior his full attention. “What are your plans?”

“Plans?” She repeats, confused.

Thor nods vigorously. “Yes, yes! Plans. Y’know, your ambitions for the future.”

“I know what it means,” she says dryly. Her hands fiddle with her own mug, mouth drawn in a pensive frown as she considers. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “Once we reach Earth, maybe I can start over. A clean slate, so to speak.”

Thor hums, thoughtful. “A very good plan, but what will do you until then? It’ll take us months yet to reach Earth.”

She shrugs, “I suppose I’ll just have to keep your sorry ass in check, since your brother isn’t here to do so.”

A deep ache settles in Thor’s chest at that, and he finds it difficult to find his next words. “You’ve not seen him, then?”

She doesn’t answer immediately and Thor has to look away, the ache in his chest settling ever heavier. He takes another drink and tries to focus on the burn down his throat than the one behind his eye.

“It’s only been a day,” she tries, and Thor feels a hand touch his arm briefly, warm and calloused before it’s gone. “He could turn up. Maybe he’s hiding from the big guy.”

Thor snorts. “Aye. Hulk has never been fond of my brother. Granted, Loki can be a bit of an ass.”

“A bit,” she agrees and they taper off into a companionable silence, the feast still in full swing around them. Thor is just about to finish off the last of his not-ale when she says, “He knew the risks. When you asked him to take the crown to the Eternal Fire, he knew full well he may not make it back.” She pauses. “You did, too.”

Thor had known. He’d known, and maybe that’s what makes the bitter taste linger in his mouth despite everything. Thor had been foolish to hope, foolish to believe that his brother, the more agile of the two of them, would make it back in time.

A true fool he is.

Thor stands and finishes off the last dregs of his tankard before slamming it back on the table. “Thank you for the drink, Valkyrie. I think I’ll heed your advice and see to a healer. It’s starting to itch under these old bandages.”

Itch is an understatement. His eye throbs painfully under the ruined bandages and a low grade headache has settled nicely in the front of his skull.

She accepts his poor attempts at levity with a lift of her own drink. “Always an honor, Your Majesty.”

“None of that now,” Thor laughs as he takes his leave. “You and I both know you’ve no respect for the Crown.”

She shrugs, neither denying nor agreeing, and gives Thor a half-hearted wave as he makes his way to the healer’s bay.

The trek is longer than he expects, steps slow and lumbering, so unlike his usual quick-footed grace. He’s ashamed to admit he’s utterly exhausted by the time he arrives and the healers usher him in, vision going slightly out of focus as they remove his armor to assess his other wounds. When they remove the blood-crusted bandages from his eye, a couple of the healers gasp. He doesn’t miss the way they glance at each other, though Thor chalks it up to how unsightly it must be.

He’s missing an eye, after all.

Once the uncomfortable poking, prodding, and bandaging is done, the healers insist on him staying, though Thor protests. He loathes to take a bed in the healer’s bay when his own people may need it more.

By some miracle, they allow him to leave for his bedroom to sleep. He doesn’t bother to slip out of his armor before falling to his bed, asleep within seconds.

 

* * *

 

Thor dreams of rot.

The smell of decay and death pervade his senses, and no matter where he turns, he cannot escape it. There’s blood on the ground, but it’s not the bright red of fresh spill; it’s dark and thick and creeps toward Thor, wrapping around him like vines. He hears screams and he  _knows_ it's of his people, of the Warriors Three, of Hela, of _Father_.  


It suffocates him and the harsh smell of iron is still sharp when he bolts awake, breaths coming out in harsh gasps and his wounded eye throbbing in time with his frantic heartbeats. He sits up and the taste of metal lingers in his mouth. A gentle probing of his tongue tells him that he’d bitten his cheek in his sleep. Another wound to add to his collection, he supposes.

It’s difficult to tell time in space, but the ship is quiet; the only thing Thor hears is the whistling hum of the ship’s engine and the occasional echoing footsteps of a sleepless Asgardian or rebel warrior.

“No use going back to sleep now,” Thor mutters and turns the lights on. It’s when he does that he sees something black and gold sitting on his nightstand.

Half-blind he may be, Thor knows the small piece of fabric had not been there the night before.

Thor picks it up, admiring the texture and simple design. It’s an eye patch. A very well-crafted one, at that. The pale gold shifts and shimmers, but whenever Thor brings it close, the lines disappear.

“Incredible,” Thor says to himself as he makes his way over to the body mirror situated in the center of the room.

The Grandmaster apparently liked to look at himself, to the surprise of no one. Thor had watched as the Valkyrie had tossed no less than eight mirrors from her bedroom alone.

He unwraps the bandages around his eye, taking in the black bruises that creep around his socket like spidery tendrils. The ointment the healers had applied sticks wetly to his lashes, crusting at the edges with a yellow residue.

Thor hastily puts the eye patch on.

The instant the material touches his skin, his face tingles warmly, and the violent bruises that had littered his face disappear like they’d never existed.

“ _ Incredible _ ,” Thor says again, removing the eye patch only to have the bruises return. He places it back on, and they dissolve again. He does this several more times. For science.

He’s just pouring himself a drink and brushing his fingers over the eyepatch again when a familiar voice says behind him, “It suits you.”

Thor can only smile. He’d had an inkling, when he’d picked up the eye patch.

Yet, he can’t bring himself to face his brother. Whether it’s because of the crippling guilt at having almost caused his brother’s demise, or because he’s afraid the Loki behind him is not the real Loki, Thor doesn’t know for certain. Perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

Thor busies himself, tinkering with the small crystal bottles on the table beside him. The bottles are nice, Thor thinks. Round. Colorful. His eye catches on the cork he unstopped earlier and seizes it with quick fingers, eager to have something to fiddle with.

He half-turns towards Loki, glances at him from the corner of his good eye. “Well, maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.”

“Maybe not,” Loki agrees easily. Even from this distance, Thor can see Loki’s lips curling into a familiar smirk.

“Thank you.”  _ For agreeing with me _ , he doesn’t say. The conflicting relief and frustration that follows is normal -- welcome, even. The two feelings go hand-in-hand when it comes to dealing with Loki. “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.”

He turns and throws the cork at Loki then, fully expecting it to hit the wall behind the mirage with a loud, metal clang. To his surprise, his brother’s fingers catch the stopper easily, flesh coming into contact with soft metal, the sound loud in the suddenly quiet room. 

Thor allows himself to smile, a real smile. Loki returns it, genuine and full of affection, like when they were children.

“I’m here,” Lokis says, and Thor wonders if he imagines the weight of those words meaning more.

“So you are, brother,” Thor says, fond. A weight has lifted from his chest and he finds himself speaking freely. “Where have you been hiding off to? I mourned you, you know. Again.”

“And again, I’m … sorry?” Loki isn’t apologetic in the least, Thor knows, but he supposes ‘it’s the thought that counts’, as the Midgardian saying goes. “Really, to be so easily deceived, especially by one’s own blood? Not very becoming of a king, brother.”

Thor shrugs, another Midgardian quirk he’s picked up recently. “Aye, but that’s what I have you for.”

Loki makes a quiet, pained sound. “I believe you’re missing the point.”

“And I believe _ you _ ,” Thor points at Loki from the rim of his glass, amber liquid sloshing gently with the movement, “are avoiding my question. Where have you been? We’ve been in space for two days. I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of you since Asgard.”

It’s almost adorable how quickly Loki bristles, ever prickly about his privacy. Like they ever had privacy being the crowned princes of Asgard, Thor thinks, amused. Whatever helps Loki get by, he supposes.

“It is none of your concern,” Loki says, pulling himself to his full height, chin tipped back haughtily. So predictable. Thor smiles into his glass, nodding along. “Frankly, you need only worry of yourself. Since your ascension into becoming king, you’ve done an abysmal job at keeping your people in line.”

“Ah, yes. Of course,” Thor agrees easily. “And I’m sure you’re here to tell me exactly how I should be governing our people, is that it?”

“No.” His brother crosses his arms, forefinger and thumb rubbing together in that calculated way of his; it’s one of the very few tells that Thor can read. Loki is considering his next words carefully. “But what is a king without an advisor?”

Thor frowns, setting his glass on the table with a pointed ‘clink’.

“You wish to be on my council,” Thor says slowly, crossing his own arms, posture mirroring Loki’s.

“If you’ll have me.” Loki’s posture is reserved in a way it hasn’t been since he’s stepped foot in Thor’s room, yet something continues to set Thor’s teeth on edge. It’s a familiar feeling when dealing with Loki.

His brother is scheming something, but to what end, Thor is unsure.

“I see no harm in having your guidance,” Thor says at last when the silence stretches on uncomfortably long. “But know this, brother: if you even think of betraying my trust, I will not hesitate to treat you as a prisoner of Asgard.”

Loki grins then, all teeth and eyes bright. “I would never dream of it.”

“We shall see about that,” Thor says, affection coloring his tone. 

His brother opens his mouth, no doubt a witty remark on the tip of his tongue, but Thor beats him to it, crossing the room in three great strides. He grips his brother by the arms and pulls him close, crushing Loki against him in a strong embrace. For once, Thor has rendered Loki speechless, the trickster standing stiff and silent in his arms.

“Think what you will, brother, but I am glad you are safe and whole,” Thor says lowly. “I do not think I could have handled losing both Asgard and my brother in one day.”

Thor pulls away before Loki has the chance to do so and claps a hard hand across his brother’s back cheerfully. He lets the moment pass, knowing his brother is not one for sentiments these days.

Loki’s face is devoid of any obvious emotion, the tense lines around his eyes the only thing giving away his brother’s apparent unease. He goes to speak, “Brother, I–”

A knock on the door effectively cuts off whatever Loki is about to say, both brothers startling at the noise. Loki’s lips purse, a flash of irritation crossing his pale features before it’s gone, leaving only a carefully mild mask.

“Loki,” Thor says and grasps his brother’s wrist swiftly lest his brother disappear again when his back is turned. “Speak. Don’t shut me out.”

“We’ll speak later.” When Loki attempts to tug his wrist away, Thor only tightens his grip. Loki scowls and yanks harder. Thor responds in kind. It’s a very futile game of tug-of-war on Loki’s part, but finally the trickster snaps, “Quit being stubborn, you oaf! I said we’ll speak of it later.”

“Will we?” Thor wonders, and he’s close enough to catch the flicker across his brother’s green eyes, unfathomable.

With his other hand, Loki gently pries Thor’s fingers loose, squeezing them gently. “Yes. We will.”

It almost sounds like a promise.

The moment is ruined when the knock sounds again, somehow more obnoxious than the first time. Thor swings the door open and is entirely  unsurprised to see the Valkyrie standing in front of him, foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the ship's floor.  


“Lord of Thunder,” she greets lightly. Her eyes widen when she takes a good look at him. “Your bruises! They’re gone. Nifty eye patch you’ve got there.”

“Ah, yes. A thoughtful gift, and a clever piece of magic.” Thor removes the eye patch and immediately, the warm tingle is gone, a chilliness growing in its place. He feels oddly naked without it. Thor puts it back on, welcoming the warmth and comfort it brings.  


“Yes,” she says after a drawn out moment, eyebrows knitting together suspiciously. “Very clever.” It’s then that she peers behind Thor. “Hello, Loki.”

“Hello, Scrapper-142,” Loki says smoothly from somewhere behind Thor. “Always a pleasure.”

“Your brother was in quite the state when he thought you were lost,” she says conversationally, like Thor isn’t standing between them and blocking most of their view of one another. 

Loki grins, unaffected. “Yes, it would seem so. A bit sensitive, that one.”

“Hey,” Thor says, slightly hurt.

“My opinion of you climbs higher every day.” She turns her attention back to Thor. “Come eat with me and the big guy. Breakfast is going to be served soon.”

“I would love to,” Thor says and swings around to face Loki. “Join us, brother! You must be famished.”

“As much as I would love to,” Loki drawls, his tone implying the exact opposite. “I have other matters to attend to.”

The Valkyrie looks like she’s going to say something particularly foul so Thor interrupts before she can, “Very well. We will talk later.” 

“Of course,” Loki says. 

When Thor follows the Valkyrie out and glances back, Loki is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://theignisscientia.tumblr.com)!


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